


People-Vultures

by Sunpops1



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Crime Fighting, Harry Osborn is Spider-Man, Multi, Mutual Pining, Norman Osborn's A+ parenting, Pining, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2019-10-18 22:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17589719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunpops1/pseuds/Sunpops1
Summary: Peter flung his hands around. Harry saw something fly off of them, and though he tried to move, the unknown object hit his face. It moved, no,crawledto his neck and he scrambled to try and catch it.But it was already too late.It was only after the spider bit him that Harry managed to smack it off, causing its body to crumple like a paper ball and slide off his neck to hit the floor.Harry proceeded to throw up on Peter's shoes.-In which Harry Osborn becomes Spider-Man, it takes him a little longer to learn how to be responsible, and he's got a crush on Peter Parker bigger than the Empire State Building.





	1. Men Made of Shadows

Harry Osborn loved his father. There was no other way to describe it, really. Norman was his father, the man who'd been in his life for so long. 

For many of the same reasons, Harry hated his father.

Norman Osborn liked to talk, and more than that he liked to gloat. He also liked to compare things, even though his view of things was either terribly bloated or shrunken. Politics being a prime example, his coworkers, his son. Norman, of course put on a face for a crowd, dealing in with the more common rhetoric. But by himself, Norman knew nothing. Norman knew a few cold hard facts and could construct an argument perfectly on the fly but he lacked empathy, any bit of care for anyone else. 

Norman Osborn talked and gloated and compared and commanded - all day long. Such was the life of a businessman, Harry supposed. Norman, though, talked so much to cameras and underlings and men twice his age (and Norman wasn't young, by any means) over the polished oak of his desk and in the lens of flashing cameras that when the time came to talk to his son, he didn't have any words to give the boy. 

But, even in the occasional silence, Norman Osborn didn't care to listen. 

It wasn't always this way, not exactly. But even when Harry's mother was around she was always the one spending more time with her son, commandeering conversations, usually having to work to coax a short-spoken reply from her husband. She was the one who attended parent-teacher conferences and open houses and bought food for class parties and took him to the zoo and comforted him when he has a nightmare. His father wasn't always there - and when he was, he was like a phantom, skirting on the edge of Harry's vision like a monster Harry had dreamed up when he was a child. The one that stayed in his closet. It never came out, but Harry could hear it breathing heavily behind closed doors.

Harry knew, too, about all the things his father had done. His father thrived on stepping over others and gallivanting that fact around as an achievement. When anyone accused him of it, Norman Osborn would play the victim, twisting words. If there was a safety hazard in his labs it was never his fault, it was yours. A product had unattended consequences? You used it wrong. There was a mess? You made it.

Norman Osborn was a man behind masks, twisting and shifting and changing depending on the angle and lighting, he was a different man in profile - something he had passed to his son. Harry would smile and play the part like a puppet on strings. 

Harry _hated_ that they held something like could that in common. Something so important. The inability to be genuine with a single human being. Harry doesn't want to be like his father. When Harry thought of the man he'd become in the future, he just knew it wouldn't- couldn't be Norman Osborn. 

-

Then, Harry got powers. It was his Dad's fault; a careless lab accident, probably because Norman was too busy yelling or trying to sweet talk investors. (Maybe it wasn't, maybe it was some poor little lab assistant, but it's his father's company, it's his responsibility.) 

Though, maybe it was Harry's fault. After all, he should know better than to ask a favor like hosting a field trip for his class. 

In the end it didn't matter, because everything was second-place when he remembered how happy Peter was.

He'd had been talking to Peter when it happened. Harry was fascinated, to say the least, with the way Peter looked as he took in the facilities. Peter looked so carefree and happy among all the tech and rushing scientists. Excited like a child in a candy store. Harry looked at Peter's face, the grin splitting his freckled cheeks, and then at Peter's hands, excitedly clenching his temporary OsCorp ID. Peter's bony hands, leading to skinny wrists; up, up, up, to sharp shoulder blades that Harry knew existed but lay hidden under his jacket and flannel, the top of his equally sharp collarbone just barely visible from where Harry stood. (What was it? Harry thought, that made him weak for a scrawny boy like this?)

Harry's eyes were all distracted, watching Peter's lips as he whispered energetically about all the applications of a certain machine Harry had seen before but didn't know the name of. "Oh but Harry, I know you hate your father, but I mean that paper he wrote on nanotechnology was so good and like, here's the stuff he used right here Harry!" Peter was pointing a finger through one of the windows, "Just imagine... I mean, I don't know if I would work for OsCorp because of the focus on weapons but- but Harry... wow." Peter's voice trails off, and the boy looks through the window with longing eyes.

"Peter, you could do anything you wanted." Harry tells him, "You're literally the smartest kid I know. I don't know how many times you need to hear that but it's true."

"Bluh," Peter said, "I don't know, I'm just hoping I can afford college." Harry then watched as Peter's brow furrowed. Peter looked around, eyes moving away from the window and down at his hand. Peter's face quickly filled with panic. Then the boy screamed. Harry jumped in surprise, and the rest of the group was startled enough to whip their heads around. The guide immediately started to move towards them to see what the problem was.

Peter flung his hands around. Harry saw something fly off of them, and though he tried to move, the unknown object hit his face. It moved, crawled, ( _oh no, oh no_ ) to his neck and he scrambled to try and catch it. 

But it was already too late.

It was only after the spider bit him that Harry managed to smack it off, causing its body to crumple like a paper ball and slide off his neck to hit the floor.

Harry proceeded to throw up on Peter's shoes. 

-

Harry woke up feeling disoriented. 

When he finally opened his eyes, the world seemed too bright. The white of the ceiling was too much and he shut his eyes again with a groan tearing itself from his throat. 

Where was he?

Harry also found himself agitated by the feeling of the sheets underneath his skin, just on the side of too uncomfortable, and he could feel every drop of sweat on his body under the tight confines of the blanket. Harry could hear ticking, ( _tick, tick, tick_ ) presumably from a clock due to it's consistent pestering, a constant pressure in the back of his mind. 

Footsteps filtered into his ears. Tap tap tap down the halls, the click of high heels going quick. He peeled his eyes open to look around and saw no one. Strange, he thought, for they sounded close. Another pair of shoes joined in, squeaked every few steps, faint and fading away. The last thing he noticed was that he could hear breathing. Soft and snuffling every once in a while, like they were asleep.

Harry peeled the blanket from his body, the feeling of being trapped inside too much to fight off.

For a few moments of the almost silence, ( _tick, tick, tick, tap, tap_ , he tried to drown it out) he let his eyes adjust, staring at the crinkles of the sheets (??) in front of him. When his eyes were finally completely adjusted, he looked up again, finding himself in one of OsCorp's labs that had been outfitted with a cot and some emergency medical supplies. He was in his boxers and a t-shirt; not the t-shirt he'd been wearing, but a fresh one. Probably a smart idea, considering the last one had probably been covered in sick.

Harry moved his gaze to the breathing he could hear to his left and found Peter, curled up in one of the desk chairs from the lab, next to his bed. Peter was still wearing the same clothes, except he was wearing a pair of Harry's socks and his shoes were seemingly abandoned somewhere. The boy's jacket was draped across his body like a blanket. Fingers still vaguely hanging at the edges from where he'd presumably pulled it tighter over himself.

Harry stayed like that for a while, simply sitting and listening and watching Peter's chest rise and fall with his breath. But eventually he sat up and groaned again, louder, feeling his limbs creaking as he came to awareness. There was a soreness everywhere, a sort of dull ache that seemed to have seeped even into his bones. Harry could feel the mass of pain in his neck, horribly sharp and biting. Reaching back to gingerly brush it with his fingers Harry hissed from the sting as he made contact, even through the bandage over top it.

Peter woke up, blinking a few times, hands coming to wipe away the evidence of sleep that had congealed in the corners of his eyes. Peter's arms stretched above his head. Harry was surprised - he could hear every crack of Peter's bones as he did it. Harry must have made a face because Peter asked him, “What?”

Harry just answered with, “Your bones, dude.“

Peter shrugged. “I've got poor structural integrity.” 

"Well obviously. They're like... old doors."

Peter tilted his head, with a thoughtful look on his face. "You're fucking out of it, Har."

"Mmmmm probably. I feel like... I feel like I'm high but it's _so_ much worse dude. You know fisheye lenses, I feel like I'm in one. It's like... it's someone popped a sunwashed VCR from the fifties in an oculus rift." 

Peter just laughed, "That sounds like hell."

"It is, Peter. This is Hell. God has abandoned this timeline." Peter rolls his eyes and stands up, stretching again.

"Whatever you say Harry. Maybe you'll feel better if you're not laying in a cot."

"Yeah who's idea was that?" Harry asked, "I mean you guys could change my shirt but not get me up to my room?"

"Well I think they just wanted you near the medical equipment. You threw up on my shoes, you know."

"I'm sorry," Harry whines, "I'll make it up to you, just uh, help me up?" Harry offers his hands to Peter and the boy attempted to pull Harry from where he lay. Harry got his legs over the edge, slowly, but Peter couldn't quite manage to pull his dead weight up. Not that Harry was helping at all. "Your struggles amuse me." Harry says as he lets his weight flop back onto the cot. Peter makes a face.

"You asked for help!"

Harry laughs, Peter groans, "You're impossible!" Peter says, "Impossible! Get up you lazy bastard!"

It was ultimately Peter and a guard who transported him to an elevator. Once they got to the penthouse, the guard left him and Peter alone when Harry said it was okay and Peter verified he knew where to go from there since he'd been in the penthouse only a million times before.

After stumbling to Harry's bedroom, awkwardly because the taller teenager was leaning into him, Peter told Harry he was going to go grab his sneakers from the washer.

“They said It was probably nothing, Har, you showed no symptoms outside of normal spider bite stuff, just a bit of a fever. They also said it wasn't contagious... so that's good,” Peter said “I mean it could be something but it's probably nothing, you might get sick, get an infection... Die. But you probably won't die... Probably.” 

Harry moaned from where he'd smashed his face into the pillow. “Is that the best you can do? Probably?” Without sugar coating it, he felt like shit. He'd been feeling it when he'd woken up, but maybe the movement up the elevator and to his room, even leaning on Peter for support, was enough to upset his body again. Now that he was lying down he felt his head start to throb and his stomach twist, threatening to projectile vomit the _nothing_ in his stomach. "Honestly, if this gets worse, I would probably rather die."

Peter giggled and Harry felt the mattress next to him sink as Peter sat down. “It's the best anyone can do, I mean.. just think of all the scientific theories as opposed to laws. And, anyway, don't worry about it, I'll be here to nurse you to health. Dr. Peter at your service ”

Harry groaned again, halfheartedly waving his hand at the place where he thought Peter was sitting. “Oh no…” he whined, “anything but that.” Peter laughed, clear and loud and melodic and Harry felt himself slipping away to the sound of it, feeling exhausted as the sounds of bells chiming filled his head."Also..." Harry trails off for a few moments, he seems to lose the thought of the words that were just in his head, but then they come back, if blurry, "You can't be a doctor and a nurse. They're... they're different things."

"Well it's the spirit of the thing."Peter stopped laughing, Harry could feel the shifts in the bed, the sheet moving with Peter as he fidgeted, “Shit. Harry? You okay? Harry? Harry do I need to call someone? Harry!-” 

and then Harry didn't hear anymore.

-

Harry doesn't remember much. Just brief flashes of consciousness, a burning pain everywhere, his bones feeling like they'd turned into to masses of tangled string and someone was rabidly pulling at them, trying to unwind them. He was cotton turning into fake cobwebs. A Halloween decoration. _Delirious._

Harry remembers one time. Him running to the restroom, twisting the doorknob so hard that it seemed to pop out of place. Odd. Bending over the toilet bowl, vomiting the nothing in his stomach, then stomach acid, and dry-heaving for a bit, waiting for his throat to stop locking up.

Collapsing on his floor, not his bed. His body seizing up, contracting like a spring coil ready to bounce. Convulsing, trembling, the pain so bad he digs his fingers into the carpet and rips chunks of it from the floor. Not lucid enough to think about his father being angry when he sees it. Sweating so much he feels like he's drowning.

Convulsing, feeling too cold. Feeling too warm. Feeling tired. (So _tired_ ). Someone opening the door, hands on his body, maneuvering him into bed. 

Before everything fades, the feeling of knowing death, seeing her skirting on the edges of his vision, a shadow with no shape. "Harry," it says, "Don't die on me,"

"Your mother-" it says, "never- not again." it says. 

Hypocrite. Harry thinks. If death were so concerned about him dying, why is it here, laying him in bed- this coffin.

Harry thinks he will die. That's what this feels like. Death. Waiting for vultures to come down on him.

-

He wakes up in his room. Peter wasn't there, Harry tried not to feel disappointed. The fan is on, he can hear it running. In Peter's apartment when they run the fan it squeaks as it goes around. Harry's fan is a fair bit more modern, running smoothly and swiftly. Harry can feel the thin sheen of dried sweat all over his skin. The room is too cold, the fan, despite it being oh so quiet is still too loud as it cuts through the air.

Harry turns the fan off.

He lumbers out of his room, taking the brief time to admire how well he can see everything right now. Maybe being ill and out of sorts had made him appreciate this lucid state more. However, it's a two-edged sword since he can smell his own stink, the sweat sticking to him, the lingering smell of disease. His body doesn't ache anymore, so that's good, instead his stomach just feels empty, in a way that eats him up inside, he doesn't know the last time he ate. In fact, he doesn't even know the day. He doesn't remember the last time he was this hungry.

Harry finds out he did break the bathroom doorknob, but shrugs and goes inside to take a shower anyways When he initially turns the hot knob it goes too far too fast and it makes a frightening noise from the sudden jerk. Harry panics for a moment, believing he'd just caused another incident but then he turns it back it seems to fix itself, for the most part, so he decides not to worry about it. It's not like anyone else uses this bathroom anyway, Norman has his own.

After taking a long shower, he walks out to the kitchen surprisingly aware for someone who'd been bedridden for possibly more than a day or two. Surprisingly aware at all, really. Harry felt none of the normal morning grogginess that usually clung to him until noon.

What greets him is nightmare-fuel. Peter, sitting at the table, nervously staring down his breakfast, which someone else obviously made. Firstly, because Parker couldn't cook to save a life and secondly because he suspects Peter might eat less than that in a day. Not out of purposeful neglect, but Peter never had much of an appetite, nor much to eat, and it diminished significantly more with his ADHD meds and all the other medicines he had to take for his weak immune system and whatever else he had.

A few times Peter tried to describe his list of medicines to Harry. But, by the time Peter was through, Harry had managed to remember only two off the list that was quite possibly longer than his own forearm. When Harry learned a few more, he'd forget the others, and then, eventually, Peter just gave up.

But Peter, by himself, is by no means nightmare fuel. If anything, the boy is dream-inducing, fantasy- making. No, it's the mix of Peter sitting there and Norman at the head of the table staring interested at him. Norman has always seemed to like Peter, not really because Peter was Harry's friend, but because Peter was intelligent. Peter was the kind of world-conquering, world-changing smart that was a rare gift. The boy pursued it, too, always using his sparse odd job money and birthdays and Christmas to buy and ask for specific scientific publications and equipment. 

So there Norman was, talking poor Peter's ear off. The latter of which look absolutely terrified, when Harry walked in.

There's an odd silence when Harry walks into the kitchen, both of the men looking up to see Harry standing there in a pair of loose sweatpants and a t-shirt. Peter's the first one to break it, and while Norman only spares a moment to nod at his son to acknowledge his continuing existence. Peter jumps up from his seat and scampers over to greet Harry, wrapping the taller boy in a tight hug. “Harry! You're okay! I was getting super worried. Your Dad told me your temp spiked to like 106° while I was asleep and he had to call a doctor- Shit, Harry, don't do that again man my little sick heart can't take it. You can't... you can't be sick too! I'm the sick one!”

Harry returned the hug tentatively. “Well, now I know how you feel, don't know how you do it.” Over Peter's shoulder he caught Norman's eyes.

Norman stood up and came forwards as Peter let Harry go, “I'm glad to see you're okay, Harry,” Norman announced, “I was just talking to Peter here about possibly taking The internship with Doctor Octavius. Apparently your friend is a bit of an Otto fanatic.” At this, Peter blushed, backing away and back to the table and his plate. Continuing to pick at the eggs and potatoes. It's almost comical how overwhelmed Peter seems. “Maybe you could convince him it's a good opportunity.”

Instead of a hug, Norman clamped his hand on Harry's shoulder. “Sit down, I'll get the chef to make you something. Maybe you could help Peter with his plate, he seems a little lost.” Harry was surprised at the fact his father made a joke. That was probably the oddest thing so far.

Peter blushes even harder if possible, burying his face in his hands. As Norman keeps walking he calls behind him, “Do make sure he eats, Harry. Growing boys need their food!” Then Harry realizes, of course Norman's joking around, it's one of his techniques. Making people feel at home like that. Peter looks like he wants to fall through the floor.

There's a moment of awkward silence and Peter goes, “what's up with your dad, dude?” 

Harry shrugs. “Tactics." He replies simply. 

More silence. Peter seems to finally collect himself from Norman's earlier teasing. Peter's looks up at Harry and Harry realizes the blush mostly gone, but there's a faint remnant of flush on the Peter's cheeks.

“I'm glad you're alive, man.” Peter adds after another few moments of silence.

Harry snorts. “Me too.”

-

He'd gotten bit on Thursday, today was Monday. Peter had apparently stayed the weekend and then some. Emailing teachers for both him and Harry for the day's work. Peter's already finished his work up and copied over some of the notes into Harry's notebooks as well.

Peter Parker was actually an angel. A saint. A miracle. Peter Parker was too good for this world. ("Well... it wasn't all me, Ned helped." Peter said ("Who's Ned?" Harry asked ("He's in like most of our classes, Harry.")))Harry realized belatedly, though, that he'd miss practice. Peter told him it would probably be fine. Zellman would believe him because so many students could back up his dumb sounding, but unfortunately true, spider bite story.

They ended up finishing their homework and lounging around most of the day. They got through two horror movies, a five episodes of the office, a lazy hour of playing various flash games, and nearly half a pizza before Peter had to go home.

Peter packed up his stuff, ready to make the familiar ride back to the station and take the subway home. It was something he'd done a million times before. Harry offered to drive, like he always did. And, like he always did, Peter politely declined.

Norman saw Peter at the elevator as Harry and he chatted and Peter fiddled with his skateboard. “Oh , Peter, going home?”

Peter clutched his skateboard to his chest. “Ah, yes Mr. Osborn.” 

Norman looked over at Harry, “Are you driving him?”

“I asked him if he wanted me to. He said no.”

Norman turns his eyes back to Peter, grinning. “Well, it's too late for that now, isn't it? It's almost ten o'clock. Why don't I drive you Peter?” Norman slung his arm over Peter's shoulder. “We can talk more about a job here at OsCorp. You know, if you work or intern here prior to higher education you're offered a very hefty scholarship to any school of your choice.” Harry knew that was a lie, or, at least, there was previously no such program. But he knew that Norman could make it a thing. Harry kept his mouth shut.

Peter, ever the humble one tried to decline the offer very politely, but in the end Norman won by strong-arming him into agreeing.

Harry just had to watch, and it was almost comedic, Peter's horrified face as the elevator doors shut, trapping him and Norman inside.

-

When Harry finally remembers to check his phone he finds it bombarded with messages. He groans but takes the time to answer them anyway. 

If Harry really had it his way he'd never be popular, he'd just hang out with Peter every hour of the day, kicking back and playing video games and watching TV and munching on pizza and chips. He would take the time to put in real effort on schoolwork too though.

But Harry is an Osborn and he must uphold the "socialite expectations." 

When he's done answering he throws his phone on the kitchen table and grabs another slice of pizza. God, why is he so hungry?

-

Harry didn't just figure out he had powers in one distinct moment, rather it was a series of small things.

Slowly recognizing his enhanced awareness of… everything. How he could hear footsteps no one else could pick up on, or becoming privy, the same way, to personal information. (And no, sure, it was interesting, but he really did not want to know that much about Sally from Pre-Calc) Then it was studying his reflection in the mirror for a while, noticing how he saw every little pore in his skin (And they were clear! Hallelujah!) All the little imperfections he'd never noticed before, like how some paintings are crooked, and a delicate layer of dust on every surface.

Harry didn't want to believe it. Tried to offer alternatives to the fact he could expertly weave through crowds now, and how he kept breaking things he shouldn't be able to break. 

And then he climbed a wall. Didn't mean to, it's just that something, (and he can't even remember at this point what it was too terrified by the fact that he's barely hanging on to this building and for some reason his fingers can't move and he's terrified) startled him, and he found himself several feet in the air stuck to a concrete wall. 

It took Harry a while to gather himself, Once he did, he started trying to climb down. The first couple feet was easy, somehow, very slowly moving one hand then the other, then his feet. One, two, three, four- Then he lost his grip, both hands coming free from the concrete. Harry fell, smashing into the merciless concrete, feeling his back turn into one giant bruise.

So. It was a gradual thing, but that particular incident was when he accepted it. The proof most of all being: the bruise on his back, the mottled mess of dark angry colors, gone the next day.

Once he accepted it though, Harry was unsure of what to do. 

After practice on Wednesday coach Zellman pulled Harry aside before he left. “Did something happen?” The coach asked excitedly, and not waiting for an answer said “you're playing better than ever! Keep up the good work Osborn.” He briefly wonders if he's even allowed to still be on the team anymore. Does having powers count as cheating? 

He doesn't look much different, even before the powers he'd been hard at work on the team, so, not to brag or anything, but he had a decent amount of definition even before he had the whole super strength situation happening. He'd never had vision or hearing problems. No chronic illnesses. So, while he felt healthier for sure, it wasn't like anyone noticed anything except for Harry himself.

They win the next game. Harry feels good about it, especially when the coach comes over to congratulate him. See? Harry thinks, do you see what I can do? 

It wasn't something he'd felt for a long time. The idea that someone would be genuinely proud of him for something special. Not just average grades, a pretty face and involvement with the team. Something he'd accomplished. From an adult he looked up to and liked. It felt good. 

-

Harry ends up going to a party on Sunday. He invites Peter, Peter kindly rejects the offer, adding, “You shouldn't go, Harry, if you're late to Ms. Harbin's one more time she might just kill you.” 

Harry changes the subject of that conversation. Besides, he's doesn't really have a reason to be upset by the fact Peter's not going, Peter doesn't go to parties. Anyway, Harry's got plenty of other friends there already.

When Harry arrives at the party he's immediately swamped by the rest of the team. Flash, the burly blonde occasional quarterback, even grabs both of Harry's shoulders and shakes Harry excitedly.. “You made it dude! Want a drink?” Before Harry could reply he got a lukewarm beer shoved in his hands. “You start taking steroids or something? Or you just been holding back on us? Cause, dude.” 

Harry assumed it was a rhetorical question but when Flash doesn't keep chatting and makes a face like he's waiting for an answer Harry replies. “No steroids or anything, just got a new workout.”

Flash nods, clinks their beers together and throws an arm around Harry's shoulder, leading him over to a group of people Harry vaguely knows who all turn to say hi as Harry comes to them. 

He finds out he can't get drunk anymore because he's finished off five beers and all he feels is a very mild buzz.

Maybe superpowers aren't all good.

Harry starts chatting up this girl. She's at least a six or seven out of ten. She's maybe not pretty in a very traditional way but she's got her dark hair cut in a short boyish style that fits her face perfectly, a dusting of freckles on her cheeks, and a very particular fashion sense and so said no more student artwork after last year. Which is bullshit! Bullshit I'm telling you. Their entire basis was that they could not, in good conscience let a political statement come through. You know what? There were different comics giving different views for a reason! And anyway we learned our lesson after the hissy fit Mr. Morita threw. It was an important topic, superheroes and their level of accountability are culturally relevant things now, whether they want to admit or not. You see, especially now that we've got guys like Daredevil and the rest of the defenders running around, it's a serious question and, regardless of how I feel, I still feel it's worth starting a conversation on. Sorry I put that in there, I won't do it again! I…”

She keeps going. Eventually, Harry finds the chance to chime in, “I mean what do you think of vigilantes?”

She stops talking, taking a moment to contemplate her answer. “I… believe they're a good thing. I still believe they're against the law, but… maybe that's just what we need. Daredevil, for example, has saved much more than he's damaged. They watch out for us little guys. They seem to be, at heart, just good people.”

Harry listens when she says this. Feels it bounce around in his skull. He takes about sip of his beer. “Yeah.”

The girl seems satisfied with her own answer, but then she looks to Harry with a raised eyebrow, “what do you think?”

Harry shrugs. “I don't know, I never really think about it. There's not many vigilantes parading around OsCorp Tower, not much crime there to stop. Or, well, crime they can stop. I think I'd… I think I'd agree with you.”

She smiles and Harry sets his beer down. “Hey,” he says, “do you want to get out of here?” it sounds kind of lame to Harry but he hopes it didn't come off that way. She nods in response and they push their way through to crowd to the parking lot.

-

He's late for Ms. Harbin's class.

-

“I told you, Harry.” Peter says as they arrive at his apartment “I told you she'd try.”

“My dad's going to kill me.” Harry whines, “ it's indirect. Ms. Harbin has killed me. Man, I don't get detention, I can't get detention.”

Peter gives Harry a dubious look over his shoulder as he drops his backpack next to the front door, “just don't tell your dad, Harry “ Peter turns back around sliding his shoes off and calls out, “I'm home May! I brought Harry!”

Peter's aunt May was a thirty something but younger looking Italian woman with thick olive skin and proud Italian heritage. She rounded the corner wearing a pair of jeans, a yellow sweater and green cardigan. Her long hair had been pulled into a loose ponytail, some stray hair escaping and falling over her forehead. She didn't look too much like Peter. Vaguely, sure, they both had darker hair and eyes, but not enough that people would assume they were related. Peter's skin was much too pale, lips too thick hair too curly, and his cheekbones too high. Still, it was harder for Harry to make the distinction considering whenever he'd seen May it had been along with Peter and it'd become so natural to combine the two in his head that he sometimes forgot.

May took in the sight of the two, “Welcome home, boys. I'll be cooking up lasagna for dinner,” Harry heard Peter make an excited noise in the distance, “Ben may not get done with work on time tonight, but we can all wish, right?” 

Peter nods and reaches out to hug her tight. “You're the best Aunt May! I love you and your lasagna! But… maybe you a little more.” She jokingly smacks him on the shoulder and Peter flashes her a shit-eating grin.

Ben and May were always taking extra shifts to try and make up for the expense of living in New York. For a while, Harry knew, they'd been considering moving but Peter had just been accepted for this summer-long science retreat somewhere in Michigan and after paying for that moving wasn't really a possibility. It hadn't a thing since, especially once Peter started high school. They didn't have the heart to move him somewhere else even if it would be easier for them.

When Harry thinks about it, he remembers how spoiled he is, living up in his tower, complaining about his dad. Harry wishes he could do something for people who need it. But what could he do? He supposed he could volunteer at a few places, but where? When? 

He wants to help. He does. He just… doesn't do it. 

Peter and Harry scramble into the living room and start the TV. Peter gets first player and starts to set up the game while Harry gets himself comfortable on the couch. “you should've come though.” Harry says, pulling up a blanket over his legs “to the party. It was boring.”

Peter crosses his arms,”didn't you make out with a girl in a BMW? Did you even know her name?”

Harry shrugs, “it's just not fun without you there to keep me company, Pete. Most of my night was spent socializing with jocks, and listening to that girl rant about yearbook and superheroes and shit.”

“Superheroes are not boring!” Peter quickly defends.

Harry rolls his eyes, “I know Peter. You've got all the posters to prove how you feel about them.” Peter blushes but stands his ground.

“I'd love to have powers or something,” Peter starts, “maybe people would finally hire me, other than OsCorp and other sciencey places I'm too busy for. I could get a job other than putting in volunteer hours at FEAST with May. One that pays! I could finally do all the things I wanted to do and protect people. I'd even look real cool while doing it! I could sow my own costume and make my own tech. I have it all thought out, I'd be a great superhero, right?”

Harry kicks Peter, “I'm sure you'd be superb nerd-man, now start the damn game.”

Peter squawks and then kicks Harry back before starting.

They play for a while, and then, still playing, Peter talks again.

“Do you think you'd be a superhero Harry?” Peter asks, “I think you could be. But…” 

Harry looks over “But what, Peter? You gonna continue that sentence or leave me hanging here? You think I couldn't do it, I totally could-” 

Peter squints, “you'd be a good one but you'd totally just do it to get the girl, wouldn't you?” Peter laughs at his own joke and, giving up the game, Harry tackles him.

They roll on the couch, Peter smacking at Harry's hands when Harry, predictably, wins and holds him down. “I'm kidding! I'm kidding! Harry! You'd do it for the girl and out of the good of your heart.”

Harry heard the game beep in the corner as his player dies. It'd been a headshot, a perfect bullseye.

-

After a while, Peter does end up taking the job with Octavius. He tells Harry it's a good opportunity, even if it gets in the way of things he want to do now. “But it'll help me to do the things I want later.” Harry hates when his father wins and finds the internship lame because it'll take up so much of Peter's time, but he's still happy for Peter. He swears he is, really.

-

Harry's first real (and, arguably, one of his worst) mistake was hanging out with the football team again. Kong (who had a dumb nickname in Harry’s personal opinion) invited a few of the guys out. Kong lead them around for a while before bringing them to some hole in the wall. The other boys started pitching a fit, threatening to bail, “Just wait,” Kong said, leading them further to a staircase, from which Harry heard some muffled shouts and cheers resonating from inside “My Uncle owns this place and downstairs…”

Well, downstairs opened up to a lot more than what anyone really expected. There was a huge empty space with concrete floors and a raised platform in the middle, off in the distance a couple of people at stands who seemed to be taking bets. There were some doors at the far end, presumably leading to a few more rooms where the managed the money and the fighters. The fighters, because, it was an underground wrestling ring. Currently the place was about three-fourths full and the crowd was roaring as two guys in the middle beat on each other.

It was a fairly one-sided fight. Harry wasn’t sure if that had always been the case since the start, but the burlier and taller of the two managed to get the other one on the ground and just started repeatedly sinking his fists into the man’s cheeks and nose. A few of the boys winced but gathered themselves. Even if they didn’t really believe it, they’d say it was cool. Such was the life of a high school boy, Harry thought.

Eventually a judge called it, and the winning man stood up, pumping his fists in the air and yelling in victory. The man came to the edge of the ring, pulling on the ropes and bouncing around, the man on the ground was carted off by a few guys climbing over the edges and pulling him away. 

“Anyone wanna go? Yeah?” The man jeered at the crowd, “Any contenders?!” 

The crowd had gone pretty silent except for small snippets of conversation. “Come on! You too scared? Cowards! One either very brave or very stupid man raised raised his hand and takes a few cocky strides forward. “Yo, motherfucker, I’ll take you.”

“Motherfucker? Nah man, considering she made you, she’d be way too ugly for my tastes,” The man in the ring is just as confident, if not more, than the man on the ground, he’s hopping from one foot to the next, shaking his head. “You coming up or not.”

The other man pulls himself up. Landing hard on the mat. “Fuck you.” He says. Harry’s a bit disappointed, but it’s not as if he expected that much from a couple meatheads about to beat on each other in a basement that smells heavily of sweat and the iron tang of blood. The two in the ring start circling one another, like panthers, but if panthers were grossly-muscled meatheads.

They started at each other for a while, moving around each other, awash in a yellow glow. Then they seemed to come to a silent understanding.

Harry found out he liked it. He didn't necessarily enjoy mindless violence, but there was a raw strength behind their punches, and a surprising amount of skill behind each strike Harry thinks, still meatheads, but they have purpose and spirit. 

One had the other nearly to the ground, but then he broke free and they were wildly grappling at each other, hands sliding for a grip on each other's skin. 

The man who'd stepped in this round was skinnier but still well built and seemed more aware of his body. He managed to get his arms around the man's waist and then slide then up to his neck. The man who'd originally been in the ring was struggling, choking for air. Harry felt the crowd going wild again as much as he heard it.

The man fought it all the way down but eventually his arms couldn't even grab at anything to try and defend himself. He was subdued.

The crowd erupted in a roar, arms waving everywhere, Harry was jostled around in the commotion. But as he saw one man fall and the other stand and do the same victory dance he saw that maybe there was something to be proud of there, something that no one could take away when you won a fight.

-

The next day he had detention, his dad never heard about it, and he didn't care that Harry wasn't home yet. 

Harry showed up at the wrestling ring alone this time, after ditching his nice jacket and shoes and replacing them with a hoodie and cheap pair of sneakers. He donned a ski mask, he knew they wouldn't take him seriously if they saw he was a kid and Harry wanted a serious fight. When they asked who wanted up, who wanted a chance, Harry kicked off his shoes and climbed the ropes.

The man Harry was up against was about his height but more heavy-set, his shoulders nearly the size of his head. They went around two times before the man rushed forward. Harry felt something in his head cry out in warning and he jumped to the side. Harry stumbled a bit but caught himself. “C'mon kid!” The man jeered, shaking his hands. “You come up here you gotta be ready!”

Harry wasn't ready, but he held his ground for a while. The man was fast but Harry was faster and stronger. Yet, still, the man got the upper hand, sinking a harsh fist into Harry's stomach and face in swift succession. 

Harry groaned and fell back, the man bringing him down with arms around his middle and slamming him down onto the mats. Harry grunted. 

He, apparently, had no idea how to wrestle. But he knew he had the strength now to beat these people. He lost, the first couple of times, and won once by using brute force, but he hurt them too bad to be proud so it wasn't really enough. 

He lost and lost and just kept losing. People asked questions when he got the black eye. It healed over the next day, though. Harry wondered if that healing factor was part of the reason his metabolism had gone through the roof, having him feeling like he was constantly eating. 

And, fuck, he needed to be better, always better. This time though, he wasn't getting better for somebody else and there was a frilly feeling bursting in his stomach when he thought about it. 

So he trained and he studied and watched and practiced and practiced. He came back. He fought, he fought, he fought. He started winning and he didn't stop. They started paying him money he didn't need and he stuffed it in his room, then, suddenly they gave him a full on costume and he was on top of the fucking world. 

-

The costume was dark, and mostly red. But with dark green going from hip to knees and up his back and the sides of his stomach, going under the arms to break out and envelop his forearms like it had hands of its own 

It included a mask. A mask that covered his entire face and pulled his hair tight to his scalp and left it a wild red mess when he took it off at night. The eyes were cut out, huge and round like bug eyes and they were surrounded by a bright silver.

His hands and feet were exposed, making it easier to fight without damaging the costume but giving the impression of being cut off at the end. 

He kept wrestling.

-

He should've known at this point. (He should've known, he should've known.) 

-

“Harry,” Peter says, finally Harry is back at Peter's apartment since he's got a day off from Octavius. Harry is standing and Peter is sitting on his bed, it's a small bunk bed with a mattress only on the bottom bunk. It has thin blue sheets and a worn Iron-Man comforter. “Are you good, man? Like… are you okay?” 

"What do you mean Pete?" 

"What I mean Harry is, you've been skipping."

"That's not new-"

"No!" Peter yells, and Harry rarely sees him yell, "It's not new, but you've never done it this much before. And... And you've been really-"

"Really what Peter?"

"I don't know, weird. You've been weird. Like you've always been weird but it's been like... a week since we hung out?"

"Mmmm," Harry says, "I'm just busy."

"With what?" Peter asks, "I mean I know you're busy but you don't- you don't tell me what you're up to."

Harry knows he's still got the vague outline of a bruise on his eye, which is probably what prompted the question, so he turns to give Peter a shit eating grin. “You know what, Pete?" Harry leans over the other “I'm fine. In fact, I think I might be better than ever. I'm actually feeling… I'm feeling really good about this thing I've got going.”

Peter purses his lips, “and what exactly is the thing you got going, Harry?”

Harry moves forward, leaning over Peter on the bed. “Wrestling." He says, and barrels on, "Underground wrestling now-” he interrupts Peter before he can say anything because he knows Peter is going to say something. “I know what you're going to say. You're going to say I'm being dumb and reckless and I'm going to get hurt but… but I know what I'm doing.”

Peter is frowning, “Harry…”

“I do- and I've been winning. I'm making money. Fuck! I even got a costume. I've been so good at it they gave me a costume. And I'm not the one who got me involved with it, if you're going to blame someone blame Kong cause he introduced me to it and it's his fault.”

Harry is usually better at persuasion, however, when he sees Peter's stern face he feels like he genuinely doesn't want to let the boy down and it gets difficult. “Harry,” Peter says again, “you're going to get hurt. You're obviously already getting hurt.”

Harry shrugs. “It happens, it's not a big deal.”

Peter says, “not a big deal? Of course it's a big deal! You're getting hurt and there's a way to stop it!”

"Shhhhsh, Peter, listen. You see this bruise? It's not that bad. It really isn't, and it'll be gone tomorrow morning.”

Peter shakes his head, “Harry that's not how bruises work.”

Harry's still grinning though, because he's been waiting for this. He jumps up, and he can hear Peter's startled gasp as the boy scrambles out from his bed and looks up to the ceiling to see Harry sticking there.

Harry's fingers pop off one by one and Harry swings down, still sticking by his feet to look Peter in the face. Peter's mouth is hanging open, eyes wide as he stares at Harry and then at the ceiling, and back at Harry. “You remember when I got bit by that spider?” Harry asks him and Peter just nods dumbly. Harry's grin, if possible, widens even more.

-

“It's still dumb." Peter huffs, "Those spiders weren't meant to bite humans you know. We;; maybe eventually something like that but I've only seen them once and I'm not allowed to really know anything about it other than it's your father's little pet project he keeps down under locks in the basement. I do know enough to say they're not ready for human testing.”

Harry is off the ceiling now, he and Peter are playing cards on Peter's carpet but they're more focused on conversation. “I'll be fine.”

“So you say… it's not going to stop me from worrying.” Peter's pouting now, crossing his arms and glaring, he stops only when it's his turn to play. “Any fours?” He asks.

Harry says, “Go fish.”

-

" _Mr. Osborn!_ " Harry's head rings, it's like bells going off, one after the other. Bells like dominoes, falling in a cascade of noise. (Danger! They scream, _danger, danger, danger!_!) "How many times have I told you to stop sleeping in my class I get no respect!-"

Harry grabs out blindly, he doesn't know how he knows, but there's something coming for him, something coming for his head. He catches the offending object just as he lifts his head up from where it lay. 

When he looks up, he sees his hand wrapped tight around Ms. Harbin's wrist. 

The teacher yelps, pulling at her hand. 

"Fuck!" Harry says, ripping his hand away. Ms. Harbin brings her hand back to her chest and lifts her head up to stare in horror at Harry. 

"Mr. Osborn," she says, "I would really hope you could... you could start getting enough sleep at home and stop interrupting my class."

Harry hears her, he just doesn't care. "Can I go to the nurse?" he asks.

"What?"

"Can I go to the nurse?"

It takes too long for Ms. Harbin to concede, but, eventually she does and lets him leave the room with his things on the premise he'll call home. She's still gingerly poking at her red wrist. (He'd only held it for a second. A few moments. That was all. That was it.) As he leaves the room his eyes catch with Peter's wary ones.

He doesn't go to the nurse. He flips up the hood of his jacket, stuffs his hands in his pockets and goes out the front doors, and only briefly turns back. It's fine, he thinks, he'll be back tomorrow. Anyway, there's no one stopping him. it doesn't matter.

-

Punching someone is an exhilarating experience. There's not really words for it, but Harry feels powerful when his fist meets with someone's cheek. 

First the cheek will move, then the jaw, and soon the entire face is twisting to the side. When Harry is lucky there's a spray of blood that breaks free from the mouth or the nose and goes flying. He's grown hungry for it, excited. 

Harry wins all his fights that night and the last fight on a punch. A clean knock-out, and the man goes toppling, hitting the ground with a dull thump. He doesn't get back up.

Harry says he's calling it quits for the night and the crowd makes a disappointed noise but another fighter steps up. Lately, it's been more crowded, Harry thinks, proud, maybe it's because of him. They smack him on the shoulders and back as he saunters over to the back offices

Now it's never been a very professional thing. It's just that, once you fight a certain amount here, you start making money off the betting in the back offices. So when Harry shows up, he knows what to expect. He has never had an issue, not once.

But he arrives and the man looks up at him and says “No.” 

Harry clenches his fist, “what do you mean 'No’?”

The man just leans back in his chair, crosses his arms and says, “it's what it sounds like, kid. No. You've been making a lot of cash off of us and we ain't even seen your face. So. No. Simple as that.”

Harry doesn't move. There's a sort of fury in him, a sort of rage. “That's not fair. I won. You saw me win. I should get as much as everyone else who wins. I won.” 

“I said no. Now leave.”

Harry doesn't leave, he moves forward and slams his hands on the man's desk. “Fuck you. I'm not coming back.” The man just hums and then waves at Harry.

“Good. Then go.”

“Fuck you,” Harry says and tears out his office with a roar. Slamming the door behind him.

Harry feels cheated. He wonders if this is how it is for everyone else who isn't a spoiled rich brat. He vaguely realizes that, yes, it is, and he doesn't need that money. But he still wants it and Harry, though he's been denied things like attention, isn't used to not getting what he wants.

In.a sudden angry motion he turns to plant his fist in the wall. It sinks deeper than he expected. He hadn't had a grip on his strength, he realizes, causing him to use almost all of it, forcing his fist almost a foot into the concrete. Forcefully carving a hole into the structure. He feels guilty, but after another moment of consideration: vindicated.

Someone yells at him from behind, he turns around and Harry head rings in warning, a sharp and loud pain in the back of his skull before the man runs into him. It's one of the fighters from earlier, holding a hefty case in his left hand. Harry recognizes it because he’s seen the other man in the office pull it out of his desk and deal out cash. How cliche, he thinks

Harry realizes he could stop the man and bring them their money back. He lets the man go.

It was what he deserved.


	2. Catalyst

Nothing comes of it. 

(But Harry still regrets it, later).

He learned afterwards, delivered to him in the fresh yellow glare of the news, that the man (the one he let go, the one who slipped through his fingers) shot someone. Not anyone Harry knew. Harry remembers seeing it on the screen, seeing the fighter's familiar sneering face pop up on half the screen. Harry felt, at the time… not as bad as he should have, maybe. But didn't feel good, either. Just feels a cold sort of disattachment, one that wells in his stomach, heavy and light all at once. He tries not to think about it.

He's not sure he succeeds

-

Harry’s father hit him one time. (More than once, _but one time, **this time,** _Harry hit a vase as he teetered back) Harry had come home and presented his father with his report card. (The cracking. The shards digging into his back. The doctor saying he was so lucky, because if it had gone any deeper- or a little to the right-) Harry didn’t get bad grades ever again. 

Every time he looked in the mirror he knew he could turn around and twist his head to see the scar on his back. The scar(s) have turned white and cold with time. When he runs his fingers over them he can't feel anything. But somehow, in his head, it still hurts.

Harry doesn’t know why he thinks about it so much. It doesn't matter. He's fine. Maybe just because Harry's mistakes have always scarred him. His worst mistakes don’t go away, they leave a mark. He’s got a few pink marks on his hand from where he’d torn it up punching in the cement. He hopes they’ll go away, but some part of him understands they won’t. (Too _deep-_ too _angry-_ too **much-** it's his fault (his fault) this time too-)

-

Harry does decide to become a superhero (or, really, vigilante) because of one distinct incident. It has to do with Peter, because of course (of course) it does.

After all, he'd do it to get the girl.

Harry notices that he talks about Peter a lot. But it makes sense, Peter is his best friend, after all. They spend so much time together and they share so many stories. Peter has always been like Harry in that he’s stubborn. They got along well, surprisingly, because of it. Peter was one of the first people to tell him “no” (what were they? Preschoolers? What were they yelling about?) and Harry liked it. Someone who actually cared enough to disagree, and genuinely made an argument... Someone who called him out on his bullshit. 

Peter was stubborn. Peter was smart and yet... such a dumbass, always getting himself into the worst possible situations, even though he already always had bad luck. So much so that Harry found himself just wanting to take the boy and lock him up in the guest room at the penthouse and keep him there.

Peter and him are walking home after dinner out at some Thai restaurant Peter loves. There’s some guys harassing a girl trying to get home, and at first, Harry tells Peter to ignore it. "There's someone calling the police, Peter, it'll be okay." Peter still looks angry. The teen stays in place, frozen where he stands watching. Harry can see his fists clench. "Peter." 

"Come on sweetheart," one croons like he's from a badly written cartoon.

"You go on ignoring nice men like us, then what'll happen to you?"

"Come on!"

"Yeah baby, what gives. Can't even talk to us? Not for a few minutes? Get off your high horse." One of the men grab her arm. She wrestles her arm out of the grip, and the other pulls a can of pepper spray frpm her purse.

"Back off!" She yells. 

They're getting so angry. Harry feels Peter's hand slip from his. "Come on Peter," Harry whispers, "she has pepper spray, they're just being dicks."

A man grabs one of her arms. She immediately pepper sprays him "I said back off!" He falls to the ground, with a shout clutching at his face. 

"What the fuck?!" He yells, pawing at the ground and letting out a pained noise "what gives? I just want to show you a good time!"

"Yeah," another chimes in moving forward, grabbing her arm again "now you've hurt my friend. Maybe we should settle this in private."

The woman is still standing her ground. Though she looks tertified, she looks pissed more than anything. There's still someone on the phone with the police. She brings her hand up with the pepper spray, obviously looking to spray the next man.

The third one swats her hand away. It's an audible smack, Harry can hear the bottle hit the ground and roll away. Harry may be selfish, he may be an asshole, but he can tell it's getting worse. But the police will be there, there's someone on the phone with them speaking audibly.

Ignore it, Harry thinks.

Peter doesn’t ignore it, of course he doesn't. Peter sets off, "hey you drunk bastards!" Peter yells, moving forward. "Leave her alone!"

"Peter-"

"What was that kid?" They say "what'd you call us?"

"I said you're drunk bastards." Peter says, seemingly gaining confidence as his feet carry him forward. "So leave her be. She obviously doesn't want to be with you. And, to be honest, I don't think anyone would, no matter how sober you were."

Peter's closer. Harry is anxious where he stands, ready to intervene. Harry can feel his fingernails digging into his forearms where he's crossing his hands over his chest. 

Peter chooses to fight. 

Peter comes between the gaggle of men and the girl. It's horribly obvious that Peter doesn't know how to fight, but, yes, he can still throw his arms around to loosen the grip they have on the woman.

Peter tries to fight them off, even the man who is blind with rage and pepper spray who joins in, squawking and pulling his fists up in front of his chests. It's the worst attempt at a punch Harry has seen in a long time. 

The girl runs in the chaos. 

Peter is satisfied. He starts to try and run away as well, a smug grin on his face. Harry is already rushing forward as they wrestle Peter to the wall and start to punch him, hard, over and over again. Over and over again. Harry feels his blood boiling, heart thumping in his ears. in one terrifying moment he hears one make a comment about Peter's prettyboy face.

Peter’s blood splashes against the wall (red). Harry sees red ( _red_ ), and before he knows what he's doing he's wrenching the man off Peter. Harry doesn't know how he can see so much all at once, and yet, all he can see is the man's weasel face, eyebrows mashed together over a too big nose. What a punchable face. 

Harry brings his fist down, imagines that this was the glory that man must have felt when it was Peter under there, and he brings it down harder. 

The others have run away by the time Harry is done. Harry is sure the man beneath him is dead, his skull rattles around on his beefy neck like a puppet with its strings cut. Harry almost feels for a pulse, but he doesn't, can't bring himself to. 

Peter is hugging him and lifting him up. The guy isn't dead, apparently, as evidenced by the sound of his wheezing. The man's nose and looks broken as well as his elbow and one of his hands, maybe a few of his ribs. There’s harsh bruises starting to form over his face and every bit of visible skin.

There’s blood on Harry’s hands.

-

It's Peter who eventually convinces him and It’s Peter who makes and cuts him something to go in the eye holes of the mask of the dumb wrestling costume Harry had let sit in his closet. Peter somehow fixes the white-stained rounded glass? Plastic? in there. The tint on them is crazy, and the first couple times Harry tests them out and Peter has to replace them. Peter then rips the silver lining off around the eyes and replaces it with simple black. Bold and simple. 

Peter also sews hands and feet on his costume. The feet are the same dark red as the calves and the hands green. 

Peter also sews a huge black spider over the chest, it’s a simple silhouette really. the spindly legs stretch all the way over his abdomen. Four legs taper off on his hips and side, and four up on his shoulders. Wrapped around his body like a claw. 

Harry nearly kisses him. Nearly. Harry tells himself that what stops him is common sense. But he'd do it. He'd do it, maybe, if he couldn't see the bruise on Peter's jaw. 

Harry asks for webs. 

Peter also makes him the web-shooters and the web fluid. Harry doesn’t know what the hell to make of them at first, but Peter explains, step by step, how it works. It's not too complicated, Harry just has to slip the devices around his wrist and double tap them to shoot out a stream of what Peter has deemed 'web fluid' which becomes a solid cable in the air. It's strong and flexible, more so than Harry expected.

"And!" Peter adds excitedly, waving his hands all around, "it's already in the works for new ways to shoot them. Right now you've got cables but I'm thinking, like, more loose globs of web to like... Hit criminals to stick 'em down, you know?"

"Peter," Harry asks,"How did you even do this?"

"Well," Peter says, "You're the one who asked me to. If I'm being honest, it was pretty hard, but it was an interesting challenge. I'd been experimenting with something like the webs as an idea for emergency medical casts and bandages or whatever. I was just tweaking it... And I had more motivation now so... Yeah."

And then Harry doesn’t kiss him, again. 

After practicing for a while, waits until Peter has some free time late at night and takes him out for a quick joyride over a few Queens apartment buildings.

It's adrenaline pumping and it makes Harry feel free. Every time he let's go and has to quickly catch himself and Peter. He feels like a puppet who has taken control of his own strings. Turned them into his own body, moved with them like a ballerina delicately and masterfully balancing on a pointe shoe. Peter gave him this feeling.

Oh, Harry remembers Peter. Windblown, eyes shining as he talks about how to make the web-shooters better and how amazing that was. Peter, Peter always looking to improve. “God, Harry,” Peter says, looking off the edge of the building and out onto the city. “That was amazing. We should… do it again sometime.”

“Well, we do have to get back to your apartment somehow.” Harry jokes.

Peter grins. “That’s fair.”

Harry comes up next to him, leaning on the edge of the roof. The city below is like a sea and, Harry thinks, each light is a shining golden fish, swimming around and occasionally hopping from the water in a beautiful arc. Harry thinks about how each room has a person in it and how there’s still more wandering around the streets, maybe fighting, maybe laughing, maybe kissing. How beautiful this moment is, the ocean of gold and red and blue and huge black silhouettes reaching up into the cloudy night sky, and then Peter’s shoulder brushing his.

Peter looks to him. “So, you’re going to be a superhero then?” Peter asks, “A vigilante?” 

Harry looks over at him, looks at his lips. “I guess so. If it’s what takes to keep dumbasses like you out of trouble.”

Harry sees Peter smile. “You sure you’re not doing this for some girl?" Peter asks. "You'd tell me, right? Because if you tell me later I'll feel beyrayed but if you come clean now..." Harry doesn’t mind the remark because he knows Peter genuinely means it as a joke. Because he knows Peter believes in him. 

Harry doesn’t have an answer to that. Of course, at the time, he punches Peter on the shoulder and tells him a vague maybe. But Harry… Harry doesn’t know why he’s doing it. For Peter, he supposes. Then, he thinks, maybe it’s to prove something and maybe it’s to protect people and to fight crime and maybe it’s just to fight and maybe he just has anger issues. Maybe there's no reason at all. 

Harry doesn’t consider it could be any of those things… all of those things.

Peter proves him right once they get back to his apartment, reaffirming that he really does think Harry is doing it out of the good of his heart. Because Peter believes in Harry. He knows Harry, Peter knows Harry so well that sometimes it scares Harry, and yet he still sticks around and believes in him. Harry wishes he were better at expressing that sentiment back because he returns that sentiment. So damn much it hurts.

He knows he’ll be the superhero, now, but he still thinks Peter is going to save the world.

-

Harry doesn’t think he’s gay. Or maybe he is, he just hasn’t thought about it. But he can’t be gay because he knows his father would just yell at him if the idea came about, he knows his father would want him to be straight. He knows his father could take that away from him too. For a man who doesn’t even speak to his son he still manages to get involved exactly where he’s not needed.

But besides that, Harry doesn’t think he’s gay because he knows he likes women. Of course, he _also_ knows that’s a flimsy cover-up. Harry likes Peter and he really really does and he wants to do things to Peter that he’s never thought about doing to anyone else, but beyond that, he likes Peter for Peter. There’s no sliding scale of attractiveness with Peter, no care about that. Harry just loves being with him, being around him, everything about Peter because it’s interesting and then, even better, it’s Peter.

Harry Osborn loves Peter Parker.

He looks in the mirror, his entire costume on. The delicately sewn hands, and the bold spider right over his heart… Harry Osborn loves his costume and he loves the fact that every time he sees it he can think of Peter. 

Harry loves Peter so much it hurts. There’s no other way to put it. Just pure love.

Harry doesn’t deserve him. He looks at his green monster hands, looks at the deep dark red of his chest and the black of his heart. Harry believes in this costume, believes it’ll be fun, but he recognizes that this is him at his worst. He has no plans of stopping once he starts, either.

He thinks, then, that he really doesn’t deserve Peter. 

He cries. Harry doesn't cry often, but he cries now. Alone in the dark of his room, the sea outside cut off by heavy curtains. It pours out of him in a way he can't help, his eyes burn, his throat lets something out he hasn't heard in a long time. Pained.

It says more about him than he could understand, crying over his unrequited love like a child who could not have a toy, and not the man who died because he didn’t stop something he should’ve. Because he's being a child. Being pathetic like this.

Harry… Harry doesn’t deserve him, does he? Doesn't deserve anything. Not Peter. Not these powers or this suit on his skin. Never Peter.

Never Peter.

-

Peter asks Harry for a ride home a couple of times. Now, Harry is fully willing to drive Peter home, but the thing is that he hates Otto Octavius.

Otto is nice and all and Peter is always talking about how nice he is and blah blah blah. But, listen, Otto Octavius has a bowl cut. Otto Octavius is a very, extremely short man with a bowl cut, black hair and beady little eyes he has to wear thick prescription blue-tint (because regular wasn't enough for him, apparently) over because of his vision and his sensitivity to light, and a bit of a belly. Otto Octavius looks more like an overweight Chinese woman than anything else.

Harry just… he doesn't get how both his father and Peter love the guy and it gets really annoying how they just always talk and talk about him. Peter says “he's a genius!” But Harry just can't believe it. Look at the man for God's sake! So Harry will go by the labs and walk with Peter down to the car but that involves having to see Octavius and Harry hates that. 

Octavius likes to keep Peter for as long as possible. Even when Harry gets to the labs and announces his presence it takes a long time for them to stop talking. Today is even worse though because Peter has roped Harry into the conversation by asking his opinion. 

Octavius has a strange 4 part-metal-part-clear-plastic tentacle arm contraption on him at most times. He wears it like a harness, strapped in front. In the darkness, he'd look like if Slender-Man had been squashed. Peter said once that the arms were revolutionary. “They just connect directly with his brain and don't damage a thing they're amazing! They're flexible and can hold anything still or gently. But they're also strong and they just… they're so helpful is all. He's smart Harry... I know you hate him but-"

It's weird to watch his arms contract and stretch like lungs, moving with either care or surprising strength. 

Harry thought, above all, Otto Octavius was creepy. It didn't help that Peter had taken to calling him Doc Ock.

Eventually Harry manages to get Peter ready to go and they're nearly out the door. “You're lucky you have such good friends, Peter- Osborn,” this is the first time Octavius has directly addressed him today, Harry realizes “tell your father everything is going well, will you? We’re making progress at an explementary rate. He should be happy.”

Norman Osborn does like Otto Octavius. Supposedly, they'd even known each other back when they were in college. Harry just… he didn't get it. Did not get it. He couldn't. What was so great about this man? He was smart, sure, he wasn't mean, sure, but he seemed awfully lonely and creepy and, at best, horribly awkward to talk to. Harry put his hand on Peter's back, pushing him out the door. “Sure thing, Dr. Octavius.”

-

Harry stops robbers, muggers, bike thieves, a lot of petty crime. He'll web them to the wall and get someone else to call the police. He's fallen almost alarmingly easily into the routine.

He itches for something more but tries to convince himself to be satisfied. He does stop one gang's (,he doesn't remember their name, but he's trying, he is) weapons deal. He feels good about that.

Harry also starts to collect newspapers and making note of all the idle chatter he hears drifting around the streets through windows and doors. He starts putting names to faces, trying desperately to remember who's who and where drug deals are going down.

So far he's got a list of big names he's put together: Tombstone (businessman, famous philanthropist, also considered the big man, essentially an up and rising Wilson Fisk wannabee), Hammerhead (his right-hand man, deals with underlings, has a metal plate in his forehead which Harry thinks is hilarious), Wilson Fisk (not still at large, currently in jail, but still important because his absence has left a power void), a few weapons dealers like the vaguely known Vulture (who somehow got his hands on alien tech and integrates it with human weaponry), and many more like Mac Gargan (runs a gang in Queens, famous for being ruthless and cruel). 

See? Harry really is trying. 

Peter helps sometimes, helps him organize his notes and give him insight. Peter isn't gang material and doesn't get involved with it at all, really. But he and Harry both know that Peter skims the edge of gang activity a decent amount just because he lives in the neighborhood he lives in. 

Tonight he stops a mugger. He got a good kick to the man's stomach and he's sticking the man to the wall when he hears the almost silent sound of a camera shutter going off, then another and another as Harry starts to slowly turn around. “You know,” and Harry moves forward, “you could've asked.” He tells the would-be victim.

It's a woman, she doesn't fumble or even seem scared, just slowly drops her camera back down and let's it bounce on her chest. “You're not copyrighted, I can take all the pictures I want to, Spider-Man.” She's got caramel colored skin and a very sparse amount of makeup, a very thin coat of concealer and some dark lipstick. Her curly black hair is pulled back in a tight and high ponytail and she’s wearing a stylish cut green jacket, jeans, and scuffed combat boots. “You know, I could've taken him.”

“Really?” Harry asks, tilting his head, “you think so?”

She smirks, “pepper spray is a girl's best friend. But apparently so are streetlight vigilantes no one has managed to get a picture of yet. Love the costume by the way, very mysterious.” Harry crosses his arms, the girl keeps talking. “Listen, if you really want me to delete them I will, I just think you might want a little recognition for what you do and I can get the cash prize for the first clear pictures of you from the bugle.”

“Fine,” Harry says, “you can have them.”

The girl seems unphased except a quick if her eyebrow. “Well thanks,” she says, “didn't expect you to let me.”

Harry starts scaling the wall, “What would I do to stop you? Beat you up? I could but I wouldn't… I won't. Unless you happened to have done something bad. You haven't done anything bad have you?” 

The girl watches him as he goes, he can feel her eyes on him the entire time. “You're not very social are you?” She asks.

Harry twists, “what makes you think that?” He asks, “Maybe I just don't want to talk to you.”

-

His picture is in the bugle.

MENACE OR FRIEND? It asks, NEW YORK'S NEW VIGILANTE.

Harry frowns. Did he come off as a menace? He hoped not. The article itself was compiled of a few interviews of people he'd saved. It was mostly about him, his personality, his particularly violent methods. (Apparently he'd left a few men with scars. Huh.) But eventually it falls more into why so many people have grabbed onto this hero dream by the reigns. Is it so good? Maybe not.

Harry really doesn't know. He's a well-read kid, he's not dumb, no, and, yeah, he gets what's going on here. It's just that maybe he doesn't care that much. He likes doing what he does, helping people. Harry likes doing it because it's the right thing but he does get a thrill out of it. It's exhilarating. He doesn't think that's a crime.

He shoves the article under his bed along with the rest of his Spider-Man things. Vaguely he feels happy that his father doesn't have security cameras in his room, even though they're everywhere else in the penthouse. 

-

Peter brings up the article at lunch, they're playing cards again. It passes the time and keeps their hands busy. “It's really cool. Harry.” Peter says, “it's just that… well it's serious now. I thought maybe you'd have a little more time. I know you aren't going to stop or anything that's not what I'm saying it's just that… are you ready for that?”

“Don't worry Pete,” Harry says. “Got any sixes?”

Peter frowns, forking over two sides from his hand. Harry brandishes the finished set proudly. “I always worry, Harry. It's kinda my thing. Got any fours?”

“Go fish.”

-

The police don't like him.

He finds out when they, instead of congratulating him, shoot him. That was nice.

Peter patches him up, biting his lip the whole time. “I told you Harry,” he says, very careful with the needle in his hand, “I told you." Harry groans, "not the time, Peter." Peter, needle in hand in Harry's skin, sticks his tongue out at Harry. "Listen, you're lucky I don't have to pull the bullet out but you've lost a lot of blood. You need a real doctor.” His hands shake briefly but Harry grabs Peter's arm and it stops. 

“What happened to nurse Peter, huh?” He jokes, “it'll be fine Peter. I trust you.” 

"You shouldn't." Peter says, "you know I can't fix all your problems right?"

"I know."

"I'm serious, Harry." 

If Harry could properly bring his head to turn and look at Peter. He'd be able to see the boy's face. Practically pleading. "Harry, I- I'm-" Peter's voice breaks.

"Peter." Harry says, "hey, it's okay."

"It will be." Peter says, "once I finish sowing you up. It will be. You're going to buy me new sheets."

-

Peter skates. Peter didn't ever seem like the type, but he does, he skates. He doesn't even wear a helmet.

“You know Pete,” Harry says idly, “you could teach me how to skate too. Introduce me to all your little skater-friends. We could be skate-buddies too.” Peter rolls his eyes, keeps trying to work on his project in the last couple minutes before school ends.

“Come on Skater-Boy, teach me! I know you're planning to go the skate park after school, you told me and you can't deny it.” Harry keeps pestering him, going so far as to throw a pencil at him. 

The pencil hits and bounces off Peter's head to the ground. Peter turns around, grumbling, and bites out “Fine.”

Harry snickers, “you know you love me.”

“Unfortunately,” Peter says.

-

“I thought you had practice Har.” Peter says. They're at the skatepark, Harry has been here once or twice with Peter but not too often. 

“Well,” Harry says, “I did... but coach fucking died. Honestly, I didn't even know he could get a cold. Insane, right?” 

“Yeah, just imagining it now. Can you imagine that man being sick and vulnerable? He's so not the type.” Peter says, slightly amused. 

The skatepark is busy, it's mostly teenage boys, but there's a few girls, and some younger kids, all either chatting or skating. Suddenly there's a voice coming from behind them, it's a girl, “Hey nerd.” Harry recognizes that voice. 

“MJ!” Peter says excitedly, “Hey! Hi! This is Harry, you know I've talked about him before, he's also on the football team but I know you don't you care. He wouldn't leave me alone so… uh yeah, he's here. Harry, this is MJ. She seems super tough and mean but I swear she's actually a super duper sweetheart.”

Now, Harry knew MJ. He did. The light brown skin and frizzy hair. He recognizes her almost immediately, despite the scenery change, it's the girl from last night . He can see her a little better now, of course, see the dark eyes and the fact she's actually pretty tall. Her mess of hair has been somehow fitted into a bun. Harry doesn't even have frizzy hair but he recognizes it as no small feat. “I'm not. Peter's just nice, but I'm sure you know that already… Harry.” MJ turns to look at Peter, and then down to where the shorter boy is attempting to lean on Harry's shoulder “you sure he isn't your boyfriend, Parker?”

Harry is taken back by the question but not as much as Peter who blushes heavily and starts to flail his arms. “No way MJ! God. See! Harry this is why I didn't bring you down, I knew she'd embarrass me.” Peter buries his face in Harry's chest. MJ just looks at Peter, looks at Harry and hums.

“We're not dating,” Harry tells her, patting Peter's head. “Just good friends.”

She turns to Peter, “So, I got some money. I was going to invite you over to Delmar's for some sandwiches.” She turns back to Harry, “You could bring your boyfriend along too.” 

Peter ears turn red and he mumbles something into Harry's chest. “I think he'd like that.” Harry says, Peter gives a half-hearted thumbs up, unwilling to move his head from Harry's chest. 

-

They do go to Delmar's, order sandwiches and go to the back corner of the cramped shop to eat them. Once there Harry recognizes another one of the girls that join them, though this time not from his Spider-Man-ing. It's Liz, she's a Junior, with darker skin than MJ and she's stylish, but significantly more feminine looking in her skirt and tights. The girl sitting next to her also looks vaguely familiar, but Harry can't put a name to her. She’s the shortest of the three with pale skin and boyishly cut blonde hair and glasses. She's got a "fashion sense" a lot like Peter's with the simple hoodie and high-waisted jeans. They crowd the table, Harry pulls up a seat and sits comfortably next to Peter.

The girl introduces herself as Gwen Stacy, she's apparently also a Junior and does decathlon. 

They're all decathlon members, Harry realizes. 

Harry feels... Out of place here. Yet, they all seem very accepting of his presence, not minding at all that he has apparently intruded in on their little friend group. They all recognize him. He feels bad for not knowing them too, especially MJ who was actually in his grade level.

Gwen and Peter get sidetracked into their own conversation, something about science and his internship and her internship and lizards and yadda yadda. He doesn't even try to keep up with their chatter once the term cross-species-genetics is casually mentioned along with other very specific studies that Harry has no hope of understanding.

MJ actually talks to him first. She looks him up and down, and says, “So, Osborn, huh?”

He groans. “Yeah. That's me, I'm the rich boy.” He takes a bite of his sandwich, “any follow up questions?” MJ purses her lips and shakes her head no, but Liz does speak up.

“Yeah, actually, to get it out of the way. What's it like live in a city landmark? I mean… somewhere people actually take pictures of. I imagine it has to be a hassle. Especially going down and up the elevator or the stairs all the time.”

Harry shrugs, “The penthouse has a separate elevator, so it's not a huge deal. Yeah the people barging in on my life suck, like… I don't have privacy. And I hate having people try to suck up to me just to see my house or get my money or to get a good word in with my dad… but it's really not that bad. I mean Peter here literally thinks McDonald's is a treat and every brand name item is too expensive. I'm not suffering like that.” Peter gives only a momentary break from his own conversation to address that with a simple and eloquent request for Harry to shut up and admit he knows he's spoiled. 

The rest of the afternoon is actually... Quite pleasant. Harry knows he's still going to end up spending more time with the football team and other people he hates but… but this is nice. It's really nice. All the girls are witty and smart and really sweet. They're all unique, too. Like Gwen does ballet and wants to be a cop and MJ likes journalism (saw that one coming) and theatre, and Liz wants to work as a Doctor. Of exactly what she's not sure of, but some really important surgery field.

They're also not embarrassed over saying things like really important surgery field career either. They're just… genuine. It's a nice change of pace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People-Vultures is a King Gizzard song btw, would totally give it a listen if I were u


	3. Early Days (When Nothing is Quite Right)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uhhhh... I had some troubles writing this tbh. The only ways I finally managed to break that writer's block was all ur comments and support though. So, to all the ppl who read this tysm. I really hope this chapter lives up to your expectations, it's kinda messy (and it will still be for a while as I update and edit it every couple days probs (pls point out typos n stuff I suck at catching them)), but I finaaaally managed to get it out. If barely. It's still a lot of setting up stuff... so. I was gonna make this a lot longer tbh but I just wanted to get smthn out there, mabe the next chap will be longer to make up for it??? Also I'm sorry I suck at writing fight scenes, this is like... my first one I guess so uh fuckin enjoy I guess

Harry is excited for this. It's the first thing he has been excited for in a long time.

Harry bought red string. It was a bit of an impulse buy- but he thinks it will really help reassure the whole vigilante aesthetic when he strings it up on his cardboard board filled with mugshots and newspaper articles.

He’s excited. In a sort of weird way, when there’s something bad happening, finally a chance to use his red thread.

It starts like this: A totally normal day.

Or, well, as normal as Spider-Man’s day can be. Fighting crime, spinning webs, breaking knees, taking one (one, really, that’s it, and he’s stern-faced and everything in it) selfie with a chick he saves while she’s drunk and stumbling home.

It’s a drug trade. Which is normal, and it was normal before the whole Spider-Man thing, too. Of course, Harry didn’t do this hard shit, not this stuff these clowns were throwing around in Peter's neighborhood.

“What even is this?” Harry asks the two whelps webbed on the wall as he shakes the bag and hears the pills inside rattle around.

It looks disgusting... Whatever it is, it’s bright (bright) vomit green and yellow and in the form of pills. Harry makes a face under his mask at the look of it. “New shit” one of the men, the one who isn't firing off a chain of expletives, supplies.

“-Dude,” the other one says, “You’re not supposed to say anything.”

“Dude,” the first one retorts “If I’m going to tell anyone I’d rather it be Spider-Man than some pig. Listen man, if I tell you who gave it to us, would you let us go?”

“Maybe.” Harry says.

Harry hums, wondering where he’s going to put these. Maybe he’ll have to circle back around to his backpack. Harry briefly entertains the idea of having more storage on the suit, but shoots down the idea. Thigh holsters are a bit too Captain America for him. Besides, Harry has enough space for a burner phone and a few first aid supplies (Peter insisted), that’s all he really needs. He can just carry this to his bag.

“Hey, Spider-Man,” the man pleads, “If I tell you more, will you let me go?”

“Is there anything to tell?”

“It's Tombstone's new supply. Real weird shit dude. It’s been fucking people up real bad.”

Harry turns to leave.

“Dude,” The guy says, “you said you'd let us go!”

“Motherfucker!” The other one yells.

Harry supposes he shouldn't be surprised, but he didn't think drugs were quite up Tombstone's alley. But, he supposes, the man would have the corrections. “I said maybe, if you had something to tell me. This? This is just drugs in New York,” Harry tells the two men, “I never said I would.”

The first man starts to plead, “Please… dude, I got a girl at home. She’s going to miss me.”

“You should’ve thought of that,” Harry says, “Before you went and did dumb shit like this.” With that, he actually leaves. Tuning out the sound of the two men starting to cuss him out. Harry gets home, there's no one to greet him. Not that he's surprised. He leaves his bag in his room, peels off the suit and takes a quick shower. After he gets out, and pulls on a pair of sweats he first takes a moment to look out the window.

On one hand, he gets why tourists love New York, it’s huge, it’s busy. But then… it’s also a shit hole.

He rips a piece of red string off, and pastes it to the board under Tombstone. He throws the pills under his bed along with the rest of his Spider-Man stuff, (except for, of course, the picture MJ took of him, which he keeps pinned on the wall. It’s not as suspicious, just the one picture. And, Harry could just say he was proud of his friend.)

(When did she become his friend?

He supposes it was when she took such a nice picture of him.)

The next few days pass in a blur.

More normal days, becomes a normal week.

And there’s several more instances, he finds, of this new drug popping up. Apparently, Tombstone is mass-producing it. Or something. He mentally files it under something he has to deal with at some point.

Harry doesn’t spend as much time with Peter and Peter’s friends as he wanted to, but it’s okay. He manages to not get detention again, even though he skips the last two class periods to smoke with one of the other guys on the football team and nearly gets caught by one of the janitors.

He sees the girls Peter knows more often now. Maybe it’s because he finally has a name to put to the faces he would normally ignore. He catches Peter talking to Gwen a lot, she likes to hang around his locker. Later, Harry learns they’re working on a science fair project with Mr. Connors. So, he tries to convince himself, it’s fine.

He’s grateful when the weekend rolls around, though.

Then the unexpected happens. He gets Peter to come to a party with him. Of course, this only happens after Peter learns MJ is going too, but Harry tries to convince himself it’s fine, and, it is, isn’t it? Peter just wants to know it won’t be too bad, right? Harry goes to some pretty skeevy places. That’s all it is, right?

Whatever.

He gets that Peter doesn’t trust Harry’s judgment on this stuff. He does. Peter has every reason not to trust his judgment on this stuff, Harry doesn’t have the same standards as Peter, that much is obvious.

It’s probably a good thing Peter always refuses to go with him, but Harry’s selfish. Supposed to be a pretty SFW party. Nothing too intense. Harry picks up Peter at the boy’s apartment. Peter hurries out, sliding into the passenger seat. “Thanks for picking me up Har,” Peter says, “I know it was out of your way, but Ben and May are both out working.”

“Pete, you’ve known me for how long? And you still say thank you?”

Peter rolls his eyes, blushing a little “Harry, you’ve known me how long? And you’re still surprised I said thank you?”

Harry finally sets the GPS up with directions, and turns up the music a little, (Not too much, just enough that there’s some background noise) and starts to pull out from in front of Peter’s building. “Not surprised,” Harry concedes, “I just think it’s cute.”

Peter laughs. It’s still light out, but the daylight is quickly fading, as the sun sinks below the horizon. Shadows are cast onto Peter’s face, as he laughs, his eyes crinkling, his lips pulling back into his cheeks. God, Harry wants to kiss him.

It’s just brief moment before Harry has to turn his eyes back to the road, and pull down the visor in an attempt to shut out the sun’s fading rays from falling into his eyes.

-

By the time they arrive it’s dark out. As dark as New York can get, at least. There’s always the dull wash of light from the city, blinking out the stars from the sky.

Harry pulls Peter inside when the boy hesitates out on the porch.

It’s a nice house. Nothing like living in a tower, but it is nice. The house is a couple stories, and nestled in one of the nicer suburban neighborhoods of New York. Harry walks in, and immediately surmises that the party isn’t anything too special, but since Peter is looking around eyes-wide and mouth open, Harry figures it was worth it to come out. “You nervous, Peter?”

“A little…” Peter admits, as his head swivels around.

“Aw,” Harry says, “My baby’s first party,” Peter gives him a look at that.

“This is like… my second party. At least. I think. But I gotta say… first one with alcohol.” Peter says, looking pointedly over at the coolers and red solo cups lined up on the table.

Harry chuckles, “You scared?”

Peter puffs out his chest, “No!” then sticks his tongue out at Harry. “ Asshole! Stop laughing!- No! I’m not... really, just like, you know, t’s a new experience is all. I mean you’re used to this stuff but I’m just- I’m not.”

“Listen Pete, no one is going to make you drink anything. And if someone does try to make you drink something- come to me. For once, I’m actually better in a subject than you here. Okay?” Harry then pulls Peter out of the way of some incoming people, and they start to head farther into the house. “And it’ll be fine, anyway.”

They find MJ hanging out in the living room, head down, eyes up, as she leans up against the wall. She looks more bored than anything. Harry can tell she gets more excited when she sees Peter, despite the way she keeps her expression schooled.

Peter runs over, now dragging Harry.

“Hey MJ!” Peter says.

“Hey dickwad,” she says, “I guess your boyfriend got you to tag along.”

Harry huffs, “I wish. He heard you were coming.”

MJ rolls her eyes, “Figures you’d only come to the lame party, Peter.”

At this, Peter squawks, “It’s not lame! They’ve got music and beer and stuff and everything and you’re just mean. I’m cool. I come to cool parties.” Harry snorts, and Peter elbows him, “Shut up! I’m cool!”

“You wish Parker. Listen, do either of you want anything to drink?”

“More punch,” MJ says, handing Harry her empty cup.

“They had chips right?” Peter asks, “Could you get me some of those? And like… do they have anything non-alcoholic, like a sprite or something?”

After carefully sidestepping some girl who’s already drunk to get back to the kitchen he gets some punch out of the orange igloo for MJ, and grabs a couple beers for himself. He does in fact find a Sprite for Peter, it’s in the fridge, but he chooses to pocket it anyway. He’s pretty sure no one will notice.

He’s about to head back when a voice interrupts him “You know I think the football coach would say you shouldn’t really drink any soda.” Harry turns around. He doesn’t recognize the girl who spoke to him, but he humors her anyway.

“Well. The soda is for someone else.”

“I thought you usually came to these things alone.” The girl says.

“I guess I usually do. The only people I would invite that wouldn’t already show up are all kind of wet blankets.”

The girl hums, and she looks as if she’s waiting for him to say something more. Harry doesn’t.

A few awkward moments pass before Harry tries to sidestep her to get out of the kitchen, she holds up a hand. “No. Just, I guess you don’t remember me.”

Harry shrugs, “Was I supposed to?”

She glares at him, “We made out? Had sex in your car? Talked for a really long time. So… yeah.”

Harry isn’t sure what to say. The soda is starting to really make his hand cold, and he really doesn’t want Peter to think he abandoned him. “Listen, I’m sorry. I was probably high or something, what do you want from me?”

She groans “I don’t know, I guess I thought we could hang out or something, or make out or I don’t know. But obviously you’re just going to be a dick. God, I’m too sober for this.” She proceeds to turn around and stick her hand in her purse, digging in it for something, drugs presumably.

Some other people are starting to crowd around in the kitchen. Harry sees Flash Thompson approaching. He does not feel like talking to him. “Listen. I’m gonna go.”

Harry finally finds his chance to sidestep her. But before he goes there’s one last thing. Of course there is “Do you want some? It’s new shit. Maybe it’ll make you remember?” She asks him, shaking a little bag of pills in front of his face. It’s one last attempt to get his attention.

He recognizes it instantly. The drugs clicking against each other as they’re thrown around. It’s the same thing he stuffed under his bed last week. God, people just have no taste.

Harry just ignores her.

By the time he’s back to Peter and MJ the two have slipped into comfortable conversation with each other. He doesn’t find it in him to insert himself into it, just finally gets to give Peter the soda which had made his hand almost numb. He cracks open a beer, and tells them he’s going to go socialize.

Cracks open a beer, smokes a quick cigarette outside, cracks open another beer. He plays two truths and a lie for a while until they bring up the idea of playing seven minutes in heaven. He briefly entertains the idea of dragging Peter over to join him, until the thought of Peter getting in there with someone else makes him cut the idea off.

Drinks another beer.  
‘  
Peter was driving anyway.

He avoids the girl from the kitchen as much as possible. She tries to talk to him again later that night, Harry might’ve had sex with her, since she was offering, if she weren’t very obviously intoxicated. (Tombstone’s stuff must’ve been even stronger than he initially thought.)

Also, because Peter is right there.

It’s a different feeling when he knows Peter is right there. Harry is usually fine with all this, the feeling itching under his skin, all these fake people crowding around.

Eventually Harry returns to Peter, like he always does. Harry thought he couldn’t get drunk. But he guesses that even with his metabolism, he’s had a few too many. He’s not totally drunk, but everything is slightly out of focus, and he’s by Peter faster than he thought he would be, falling into his arms.

“You want to get out of here?” Harry asks.

“Guess I’m driving then?” Peter jokes, stumbling under the taller boy’s weight. “I thought you couldn’t get drunk anymore.”

“I guess I’ve never tested it under this much beer. Fuck.” Harry groans, “Peter do you know where the bathroom is?”

Peter laughs, looping Harry’s arm around his shoulders “We’ll find one. Come on big guy.”

 

Harry giggles, “There was a girl tonight. I didn’t remember that I had sex with her, and she got kinda pissed. And like… I could tell she was trying not to be more pissed, but she keeps looking at me like I killed her family or something. I mean it sucks, but it’s kinda funny, right?”

“Right.” Peter says. He sounds angry. Harry tries to turn his head to look at him. “Let’s just, let’s get you to the bathroom before you make out with another girl drunk. Maybe that one won’t try to stop herself. Let’s go.”

“Hey, where’d MJ go?”

“She left.” Peter says, pulling Harry once again down the hallway, checking the doors to see where the bathroom is. “Said this party was lame.”

“It can’t be though,” Harry says, “Because you came.”

At least it makes Peter smile.

Peter drives them back to Harry’s place, at some point Harry must have fallen asleep, head against the window, because he doesn’t really remember the drive. Harry is thankful he has known Peter as long as he has, because he doesn’t have to step the other teenager through the complicated way to get past the security, into the private garage and then inside the building. “Hey, when’d we get here?”

Peter casts him a look, “Just now?”

Harry groans, “Too early to go to bed.”

“You were just sleeping.”

“That doesn’t count, it was a power nap.”

The moment they’re in Harry’s room, Harry collapses into his bed, and curls up with the expensive duvet. “Look at it this way Harry,” Peter says, “Your hangover won’t be as bad.”

Harry grumbles, grabbing onto Peter tightly. Peter tries to get up, but Harry keeps his grip on him. “Oh come off it Harry, I’m just going to sleep in the guest bedroom.”

“Noooooo,” Harry moans, “Stay here. You’re warm, I like it.”

Peter’s fingers curl around his own where they’re grabbing at his shirt. “Fine.”

-

When he wakes up, and finds the bed empty, he tries not to be disappointed. Of course, it would be. But it’s still a nice day. His Dad is nowhere to be found, so he just spends the day with Peter gradually polishing off three containers of pringles, and a couple rounds of Mario Kart (Peter wins), and Dance Dance revolution (Harry wins).

School comes back too fast.

There’s a hush in the hallways though. Maybe Harry would’ve understood it immediately if he checked his phone, but he’d spent the weekend hanging out with Peter. So he’s not entirely sure what’s going on. He ends up asking Kong while they’re at practice together.

“Didn’t you hear?” Kong asks, “You were there, at the party Friday weren’t you?”

“I left early.”

The jock grimaces, “Some girl went berserk! Got way too much of some weird stuff in her system. I heard someone say she smashed a table in half.”

Someone else, butting into the conversation offers“I heard she just started wrecking the place. Flash says he tried to stop her, but the girl just like flung him around. It was crazy dude.”

“She did not fling me around,” ah, there’s Flash, walking up“She was just surprisingly strong. Wouldn’t you know, Osborn? It was your girlfriend.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“ Oh, sure, Osborn. Well you were talking to her in the kitchen or whatever, and I saw you with her later.”

It was Harry’s turn to grimace. “Yeah, no, she’s definitely not my girlfriend.”

“Anyway, it was crazy. She got some new drugs or whatever. Went crazy! Dude, it was insane, she attacked her friend. I mean she went to town on her, they’re just scratching and screaming and so the crazy girl just smashes her head into the table, starts mumbling to herself and laughing and all, she was right fucked up-” Flash pauses in his story, “Yeah. I’m like ninety percent sure she’s in the hospital right now.”

“Gotta get me some of what she had,” one of the guys jokes, “if it gets you that high.”

-

“Peeter,” Harry sing songs as he finds the boy at his locker, “I have a favor to ask of you.”

Peter shuts his locker and looks over at Harry, “Yeah? What’s up?”

Harry grabs him by the elbow, pulls him closer, and speaks in a whisper “It’s Spider-Man related.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “What?” Peter hisses as he looks from side to side “Did something happen, oh god, are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay. I don’t think I could handle it if you weren’t okay. No. Wait. Tell me it was a supervillain or something. That’d be so cooool. I mean not for you but it’d still be cool. Did you meet another hero? What happened?”

“No- Pete quiet down. It’s not as exciting as you think… probably. You have access to the lab equipment at your internship, right?”

Peter squints at Harry, “I mean, yeah. But I’m also working at my internship, why?”

“Can any of that equipment maybe, uh, I don’t know, test drugs?”

Harry turns them both towards the wall as he digs out the drugs from his backpack. “Harry!” Peter whisper yells, “They could catch us with this!”

Harry rolls his eyes.

“Are you going to do it though? Please tell me you’re going to do it. Please, Peter.”

Peter stammers but eventually, with a pained sound, says “Fine. But you owe me.”

Harry grins.

“I’m serious!” Peter says, “You better do something to make it up to me! You better!”

-

Harry decides to crash the party.

So, Tombstone, right? Harry is not entirely sure what this guy is.

Tombstone is huge. Physically. Sure, his underground criminal empire is growing as well, but Harry doubts that it will ever hold a candle to the man’s actual physical size. The man looks like a black version of He-Man. He looks like the Hulk’s cousin. The guy’s suits must be tailored, because no way that man fits in any of the regular sizes-

Well, anyway, Harry doesn’t want to run out of insults just yet. Also, if he laughs to himself, he might blow his cover. His cover that he has taken up in the rafters of a warehouse, near one of the windows in the worst case scenario. Because, of course, it’s a warehouse. Down on the docks. Because bad guys are anything but original apparently.

You know, for a serious level crime boss, this guy was pretty easy to follow. His car wasn’t flashy, per se. But anyone who drives the huge black hummer type, are either criminals or super agents. There really wasn’t much of an in-between. Except for, maybe, jackasses who thought it made them look cooler. But there was so much overlap it didn’t really matter.

The warehouse is lit brightly, by some industrial level lighting up top. There’s several shipping containers lining the walls, a few of them are opened up, and they’re either empty or being unpacked. Now, Harry know it would’ve been a lot of supply, but it’s still hard to fathom the amount of drugs moving through this place.

There's a decent amount of people in the warehouse right now. Maybe fifteen guys working on moving the supplies, a couple of Tombstone’s cronies, and Tombstone himself.

And seriously this guy is huge. Harry has seen pictures of Fisk, and Tombstone? Was going to give him a run for his money.

Tombstone is intimidating as well though. He’s all tough corners and sharp edges, his expression literally hasn’t changed once since Harry has been here, and every time he speaks Harry is still surprised that his voice can be that low. He sounds like a movie announcer. Maybe a jazz singer.

“Is this all of it?” Tombstone asks one of the men.

“It is.” The man replies, clipboard clutched to his chest. “Just finished inventory. The second shipment is a bit smaller, though, since the profits weren’t as high as we projected they would be.”

“And why is that?” Tombstone growls.

“We’ve had interference boss.” Says the guy standing next to him. Harry recognizes him as Tombstone’s right-hand man. Hammerhead. God that’s a dumb name. And the fact that he looks like a bulldog stuffed in a navy blue suit does not bring Harry’s opinion of the man any higher.

Tombstone obviously doesn’t like the sound of that. “What kind of interference?”

Hammerhead clears his throat, “Our new arachnid friend.”

Oh yeah, Harry likes the sound of that. “Oh really?” Harry asks, as he sticks his head over the edge, “It wasn’t much.” Immediately the guns are trained on him as he swings his feet over the edge of his perch on the rafters. “But I have to say, I’m flattered you think so highly of me.”

Tombstone holds up a hand, “Spider-Man,” He notes calmly, “I have to wonder what you think you’re going to accomplish here.”

Harry doesn’t answer immediately, just shoots two webs out and attaches them to the huge overhead lights. “Isn’t that the question of the hour.” He muses, mostly to himself, and drops down. There’s a round of fire which sprays over his head, but it’s too late. On his way down, Harry pulls on the webs. The lights crackle as the steel wire strains to stay attached to the roof, but by the time his feet hit the floor they crash down onto the concrete in a loud crash.

He may not be able to see in the darkness either, but the men aren’t hard to find. After all, they’re clamoring around and shouting. A few stray bullets are released into the air, ricocheting off the walls.

“Fuck he took out the lights!”

“Pest-” someone hisses.

“Fucking freaks, always getting in the way.”

“Find him.” Tombstone bellows. “Find him so I can rip his head off his scrawny little body.”

“Fan out,” someone yells, “Get him!”

Harry gets about four men down easily. It's just a matter of tracking them down in the darkness as fast as he can. He gets the loudest ones first, because he can hear them stomping around. He finds them, grabs them and covers them with webbing to the floor. He doesn't bother to aim for anything in particular, just unleashes a spray of webbing and hoping it works well enough. It seems to.

The next one he finds isn’t so easy, they shoot at him as Harry only barely manages to dodge by rolling away. Of course that only manages to get him near another one, who lashes out with a foot, coming for his stomach. 

It hits but Harry gets a web on the foot, and pulls the offender down into the ground. Harry hears the crack of, probably, a head hit the cement. 

Then he’s standing, and moving his own head to avoid a messily thrown fist. He grabs the hand where it is over his shoulder and throws the man down. 

The man goes down with another crack. That one must’ve really hurt.

Good, Harry hopes he broke a rib.

He pulls himself back up to the rafters, for a better vantage point, moving until he’s sure he’s over someone and dropping down to get his legs around their neck. Well, at least that one was easy.

It's like running on auto-pilot. Harry is almost scared of himself, it's getting so much easier with each man down. He's-

Then there’s light. 

Apparently at least one of them had thought to be prepared, and brought a flashlight.

Good for him, Harry thinks bluntly.

Harry runs toward flashlight guy. Tackling the man the ground. The guy is tougher than Harry thought. It ends up with tge two almost comically rolling on the ground, each fighting to get a better grip on the flashlight. Harry finally gets in one good punch to the face, hears something break, grabs the flashlight-

Harry feels his spidey-sense shoot off a warning. He tries to move, but apparently he’s not fast enough because there’s something winding around his neck. 

Harry finds himself forcibly wrenched back into what he presumes is someone’s chest. He pulls at the arms, tries to move his body to bring the person off balance-

“So, you’re the pest getting in my business, hm?”

Fuck fuck fuck. Harry is still pawing at the arms around his neck as Tombstone lifts him up, dangling Harry in the air. His feet are just touching the ground. 

Don’t panic, he thinks.

Don’t panic. It's easier said than done. But still, Harry takes as deep a breath as he can, puts his arms up and behind him, aiming for Tombstone’s esophagus. 

Tombstone drops him. Harryscampers back up to the rafters, trying to get another gulp of fresh air. 

He realizes that the flashlight is still on the ground too late. Looking back towards it just as Tombstone’s meaty hand clenches around the object, pointing it up towards the ceiling. 

At Harry.

“Well,” Harry offers, “I don’t exactly aim to please.” Then he ducks out of the stream of light, jumping over a few bars.

“Do you know what happens to pests?” Tombstone asks. And, of course, the flashlight trains right onto Harry. Again. Fuck. “They get crushed.”

The bullets come from several directions at once, Harry opts to drop down, staring back at the marks made in the metal where he just was, running, again, out of the way. He runs into someone, he grabs their face and throws them down. Finds another one. He’s so close. Tombstone’s flashlight finds him again-

He dodges. But still, feels something tear into his side-

He goes down hard. 

Harry feels himself smash into the ground long before he recognizes the agonizing pain tearing through his shoulder. 

He groans, trying to get up. (He has to get up! Get up!) 

He gets his arms under him for a second, but then the way he moves he shoulder causes a spark of pain to travel through his arm like a trail of salt on open gums.

He falls back down, smacking his head onto the concrete.

Get up! (Move. Move. The moment he stops moving then it's too late.)

He has felt it before, it wasn’t something he wanted to relive again. 

The agonizing feeling of a high-speed foreign object drilling through your body. 

He hits the ground hard, again. 

Numbly grabbing at his new wound. Feels the blood sluggishly draining through his fingers.

(Shit. Shit. Shit) He tries to get up again, a bit more lucid this time, he uses his feet to push himself up-

And he’s slammed back on the ground. His head bounces on the concrete like a bouncy ball.

He turns his head to the side, lets his eyes travel up the large calf and thigh, up to the flashlight in his hand- slams his eyes closed as it stabs into his eyes.

“Look at you,” Tombstone says, pressing his foot down harder, “A pathetic man playing hero.” 

“Fuck you.” Harry bites out.

The foot presses down harder. Digging in like a knife.

Harry lashes an arm out, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, grabs the man’s calf. He tightens his grip. 

Throws.

-

Harry has failed.

(Failed. Just like he always will. Why does he even try. It’s his first time, but, of course, his worst mistakes always scar. Always scar Never heal. And nothing is okay, he will always fail.)

He barely remembers getting out of the warehouse. Just that he does, fleeing like a fucking coward (Coward, coward, coward), and, for a loss of where else to go, ends up back at Peter’s.

Peter’s finishing up his homework, when Harry gets there. Harry barely manages to get the boy’s attention through his earbuds, but he manages to bang on the window loudly enough that Peter tears out his earbuds and runs over. Peter wrenches open the window, and Harry immediately stumbles inside.

“Harry-” Peter says, “Harry what happened?”

Harry just grips onto him tightly, as tightly as he can so maybe this time Peter could just stay in his hands forever and- “I’m going to--- irst-- kit.” and Peter pries Harry’s fingers off, and runs out of the room.

(He will always fail.)

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! I really want to know what ppl think of it. Like?? What's the general consensus?? Do you like it? Also, please point out grammar/spelling issues if u see them tysm!


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